


Elevator: Epithymetic Experimentation (with Eburnean Epilogue)

by MajaLi



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M, light D/s and CBT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/pseuds/MajaLi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike gets trapped in an elevator. This turns out to be a stroke of luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elevator: Epithymetic Experimentation (with Eburnean Epilogue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [khasael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/gifts).



> Originally a midnight text!fic for the lovely khasael, and crossposted [here](http://maja-li.livejournal.com/62016.html) on LJ. Also, no one should ever let me title things at one thirty a.m. ever again oh my god.

Of all the stupid – and the guy's just a – and okay maybe, just maybe, confronting the disgruntled electrician who defrauded Berkshire Cassidy Holmes in the room with the control panel for half the BCH building's electronics wasn't Harvey's brightest idea. But to be far, it was an ingenious plan right up until the moment when Mike showed up, late as usual, with the paper trail files well in hand (and probably in head), stepped into the elevator – and the electrician took one look at Harvey's face and slammed down on the master brake, trapping Mike somewhere between the fourteenth and fifteenth floors.

"New deal,"he says, hand hovering over the yellow (terrifying) emergency release switch. "I walk out of here right now, or your friend is accelereated into a smear on the rug."

"Decelerated," Harvey corrects. "It's the stop that'll kill him, not the fall. And do you really think that tacking on a murder one charge will help your case?"

"You don't work for a firm like this for ten years without learning something," the electrician responds. "Me, I've learned a thing or two about the best in the business – yourself included, of course, Mr. Specter. If anyone can weasel me out of this, it's you. I just need to…incentivize you right."

"Jesus," Harvey mutters. "You _have_ been hanging out with too many lawyers." Then he steps forward and clocks the guy neatly cross the jaw. It's not enough to knock him out, obviously, but it does get him away from the switch and into a position where Harvey can truss him up like a Christmas turkey. He gags him with his tie, because there's nothing more annoying than a sore loser, and flips open his cell phone.

"You're paying for that, by the way," he informs the electrician as it rings. "911? Hello, yes, I have a – in an elevator, yes – you mean he already…? Oh. Wait, two _hours_?! No, he's not phobic. Or bleeding. No, but – damn." Harvey glares at his disconnected call. Some people are just completely incapable of prioritizing.

There's only one thing for it. The nearest elevators are just down the hall. Harvey strips down to his undershirt, leaving his shirt and jacket behind as an extra layer of insurance against Sore Loser's attempts to escape, and walks outside to pry the elevator door open with a grunt (not so hard, with the power off and all). Mike is only half a floor down, or Harvey wouldn't even consider attempting this. As it is, his hands are sore and red by the time he lands heavily on Mike's elevator and thumps on the roof.

"Mike?" he calls. "Can you hear me?" There's a bang, and a curse, and then after a moment Harvey has to scoot back quickly or risk being brained by the ceiling hatch as Mike flips it back and pops his head out, frowning.

"Did you come all the way down here for the paper trail?" he demands. "Because you're the one who told me never to leave for anything during a negotiation, and also you said that negotiation is 5% fact, 10% spin, and 85% heavy-swinging brass balls, so really the files shouldn't be necessary at all."

Harvey gapes.

"You're stuck in an elevator!" he says. "I came down to make sure you were all right!"

"Dude, I've been stuck in the elevator at my apartment for longer than this," Mike says, with a strange look on his face. "Without a working call button, either, so I had to wait for someone to complain to the building manager. It took like 36 hours for them to find me."

Harvey is struck by a sudden urge to revisit his brief career in torts law, this time focusing on regulation-delinquent elevator companies and the negligent managers they're clearly colluding with. But Mike is still giving him that Look, so Harvey clears his throat and Looks right back. Mike grins.

"You really do care!" he says happily. "Come on, I got plenty of space." And Harvey can grumble and bitch all he wants, but there's no way he's not following Mike right down that hatch. The elevator _is_ surprisingly roomy, even with the two of them in there, and Mike looks pleased as punch when he leans back against a wall and asks, all too casually, "So when psycho cut off all the power to this shaft, did he cut off _all_ the power?"

Mike's flicker of a glance toward the CCTV camera in the corner isn't at all subtle, but lucky for him the little red light has indeed gone dark.

Harvey sighs.

"Kid," he says, popping the button on his trousers. "What have I told you about good legal writing? Brevity. Clarity. Simplicity. If you want me to fuck you in the elevator, just say, 'Harvey, please fuck me in the elevator.' "

Mike whimpers, but Harvey is proud to see him straighten up, hands at his sides, and say steadily, "Harvey, please fuck me in the elevator."

"There you go." Harvey smiles, and pulls down his fly. His cock isn't quite hard, not yet, so he steps forward and urges Mike to his knees. Mike, well trained (and, let's be honest, kind of slutty) as he is, takes half of it into his mouth in one go. His cheeks hollow just a bit as he sucks at the head, teasing around the edges of Harvey's foreskin with his tongue. When he actually slips his tongue _underneath_ , running it over the still soft, hypersensitive glans, Harvey chokes and has to grab at the support rail with both hands, hips jerking forward as he tries to push his thickening shaft deeper into Mike's throat. Even without Harvey's guiding hand on his head, Mike holds still, taking every inch of it with only a muffled groan.

Harvey thrusts lightly for a few moments, caught up in the way Mike's throat flutters against the head of his cock when he tries to swallow, but eventually he's forced to pull back and let Mike breathe. Mike, of course, tries to follow, because he has the common sense of a lobotomized goldfish; Harvey holds him back with a touch to the shoulder and leans down to whisper, "Are you still wet?"

"Yes," Mike rasps. "God, yes, just like you put me away this morning—"

"Sure?" Harvey gives him a stern look. "Neither of us has any lube, and I don't want to be stuck with blow jobs and intercrural for a month just because you couldn't wait for a planned opportunity."

"I _promise_." Mike does look truly desperate, squirming on his knees with his eyes fixed pleadingly on Harvey. "I've been worried about it all day, wondering if it's going to slip out of me, leave a wet spot on my pants for everyone to see…"

Harvey sucks in a quick breath through his nose, but does manage a smirk as he points out, "That was kind of the idea.

"All right, come on." He hauls Mike to his feet and spins him around, wraps Mike's hands firmly around the support rail and pushes him forward until he's up on tiptoe, arms rigid with the effort of supporting his weight. It's the work of a moment to undo Mike's belt and shove his pants and boxers down to his knees. Mike wasn't lying; the backs of his boxers already have a dark stain on them, and there's a shiny trail down the inside of one thigh. Harvey runs his fingers through it, smearing it around and wringing a high-pitched whine from Mike.

A few more probing touches to and into Mik's hole satisfy Harvey that there won't be any harm in playing out the conclusion to their game. So he takes his cock in hand, nudges at Mike's hole with it until the swollen pucker is twitching, clenching in anticipation – and pushes inside in one smooth, unforgiving slide. Mike whines again, his hands white-knuckled on the rail, but his pose doesn't falter. Harvey rewards him with a few rough strokes of his cock, briefly pulling it away from where it's been twitching against the cool metal wall while he gives Mike a brief moment to adjust to the stretch.

Time is not on their side, however, so Harvey lets go of Mike's cock and takes a firm grip on his hips, half supporting and half holding him in place as Harvey starts to _fuck_. Mike's cock skitters against the wall with every trhust, the railing digging into the sensitive bridge of skin where his cock meets his balls, but Mike doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he's savoring it, hips stuttering as though he's torn between shoving back into the merciless press of Harvey's cock and grinding down onto the railing.

Harvey solves the problem for him, shoving Mike's hips forward and down as he shifts to gain that last bit of leverage, driving into Mike with a rough, rapid rhythm until Mike jerks his hand off the railing, stuffs his wrist into his mouth, and comes screaming and muffled with his teeth clamped around it. His choking keens as Harvey continues to drive into him, still forcing his softening cock and tender balls against the hard metal, and the way his arms and legs shake as he struggles to stay upright in the aftermath of his climax…either would have been enough to tip Harvey over the edge. Together, they have him burying his face in the join of Mike's neck and shoulder, biting down hard as his hips jerk and stutter, wave after wave of pleasure pouring out of him and into Mike.

When it's over, they're both on their knees on the gritty carpet. Mike's hands are still wrapped tightly around the railing, so Harvey reaches up to unclench them, pressing gentle kisses of praise to the cramps in Mike's palms. Mike lets out a shuddering sigh and starts to reach for his pants, but Harvey stops him.

"You're too loose," he says exasperated but fond, pushing at Mike until he's flat on his face with his ass in the air. Harvey takes a moment to zip and button himself, then pulls the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and lays it neatly over the small of Mike's back. With one hand, he pulls Mike's cheek aside; with the other, he reaches two fingers into Mike's hole, twisting them until he can feel a thick globule of lube and come caught in the crook. He pulls them out like that, wringing a half-hearted gasp from Mike as he's forced to stretch wider to accommodate the curve of Harvey's knuckles, and deposits the slick mess neatly on the handkerchief. Then he goes back for another fingerful, and another, digging out every drop he can reach while Mike pants and sobs and shakes apart on the carpet.

Once Harvey's done, he puts the handkerchief carefully aside and lifts Mike to his feet, letting Mike lean against him while Harvey tucks him in and zips him up and makes him presentable again. He does steal Mike's pocket square, though; it's off-white and matches Harvey's suit quite well.

Then Harvey retrieves the soiled handkerchief and uses it to clean the remains of Mike's orgasm off the wall. He folds it neatly, tucking it into Mike's own breast pocket.

"I expect that back by the end of the day," he says. "Clean. And it's Italian silk, so don't even think about putting it in water."

Mike opens his mouth, looking perplexed – and then his eyes glaze over and he licks his lips, swallows hard.

"Got it, sir," he says distantly. Harvey shoots a quick glance at the front of his pants, just to be sure, but even Mike isn't getting hard again this quickly, not after getting fucked twice in one morning. He'll probably be subspacey and useless for the rest of the day…but hey.

That's what Harvey's got a corner office for.


End file.
